Why didn't someone tell me I could get margaritas in a bottle? Pre-made margaritas? Why? Probably because they know I have a weakness for margaritas on the rocks. I know, it's a girly drink. It doesn't say, "I'm a sophisticated hipster." (Although, "sophisticated" and "hipster" really don't work togther; and I'm not a hispter, dammit.) Why didn't anyone tell me? Well, because I have a weakness for margaritas. And if I had access to margaritas in a bottle I would do what I did last night: drink half (a third?) of the jug-sized bottle and then wake up the next morning with a killer headache wondering why I thought it was a good idea to drink that much. But, hey, it was a Halloween party in an empty storefront below old doctors' offices (a dentist and a gynecologist). And there was '80s music and much dancing to be done. That isn't something that happens every day.
I met John Hodgman yesterday. Okay, "met" may be a bit strong. I was one of the few audience members who introduced themselves (he asked our names). He gave me brandy (me and a bunch of other audience members). He read a piece about the Mall of America and a place in the MoA food court that made food normally served at the Minnesota State Fair: meaning it was fried and on a stick. (He referenced fried cheese curds on a stick. Cheese curds can be fried -- and they are awesome -- but they are too small to be put on a stick; if anyone could screw up cheese curds it is a bunch of Minnesotans.) He signed my book. I told him my name ("Oh, we met earlier," he said) and thanked him for the brandy. He was fuh-nee.
*edit* And since I gave ME her signed copy of The Areas of my Expertise, I can tell you that he singed her copy and wished her a Happy Arbor Day. And birthday. Love.him.
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